


Could Not, Would Not

by DoctorCannoli



Category: Hannibal (2001), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris, The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
Genre: Angst, Clannibal, F/M, Smut, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1224865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorCannoli/pseuds/DoctorCannoli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His blood was pounding in his ears, the adrenaline spiking in his veins with the desire to harm, to injure, to kill. She had worked him up to this point, pushed him further than he normally allowed, and now he was edging dangerously towards an action he could not undo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could Not, Would Not

The moment he walked into the house, Hannibal could sense something was amiss. The disruption was not external – no one had broken in, found them, threatened the life they were building together – but internal. The atmosphere of their home seemed… off.  He shut the door behind him, taking care to lock up before turning to hang his coat in the closet. By the time he placed the garment on the hanger and slid the closet door closed, he was no longer alone.

“Hello, Clarice,” he said, turning towards her.

“Where the fuck have you been?” she asked, arms folded over her body. As if he couldn’t tell from her vulgar language and the tone of her voice, the deep crease in her brow told him she was not pleased, not pleased at all.

“As always, it is a pleasure to see you, my dear,” he smiled tightly, slipping past her and down the darkened hallway. “Might I suggest you calm down, Clarice, before we continue this discussion?”

“The fuck I will,” she spat, following close behind him. In her anger, her footsteps were much heavier than his, her bare feet smacking on the hardwood floors. “I’m not playing a game, Hannibal. Not now. I asked you a question.”

Hannibal frowned, the hair at the nape of his neck prickling at her insistence to continue in this vein. He wished she start talking to him like a civilized human being, not this raging harpy. She followed him into the kitchen as he crossed to the stove, seeking to put the kettle on. When he reached for it, he found it was still quite warm. She must have recently made tea for herself, believing he wasn’t going to be home to make it himself, as he often did for them in the evenings. He sighed.

“Since when have you been this petty, Clarice?” he queried, seeking an alternate way of rerouting their conversation. “You have never been one for jealousy or insecurity? Why the sudden change?”

“Don’t put this on me. I’m not the one who just up and disappeared.”

“Is that what this is all about?” he turned, facing her and leaning back so his hips were resting against the lip of the counter.

“You damn well know it is! You’ve been gone for two days! With no explanation, you were just… gone!” Clarice flung her arms out in a gesture of frustration. “What was I supposed to do? To think?”

“I expected you would do much the same as you generally do. You seem to have survived in my absence,” Hannibal said calmly, still hoping she would drop the topic, but knowing she would not. She was far too stubborn for that, especially when angered. And right now, she was furious.

“Did you even think about me?” she asked, crossing to him, invading his space, challenging him head-on. “Did you? Or did you just think about you? Your need to get away, to escape, to… something! Christ… I don’t even know why you left.”

She did, a part of him realized, have a right to be angry. True, he had left without an explanation, stealing away one morning while she slept (and perhaps that had been a step too far), but Clarice knew of his need for solitude, knew he needed to be alone from time to time. He hadn’t stopped to think she would have been as worried as she claimed to be. He’d been absorbed with his own needs, yes, but he was still not yet accustomed to having a companion, someone he was accountable to. He was learning, changing his nature, in way, but that did not completely excuse his behavior. He had been rude, he realized; he’d made a mistake, one that he was now paying for.

Still waiting for his answer, Clarice met him full in the eye and took a measured breath before delivering her next sentence. “I guess I was wrong. You just don’t give a fuck about me, do you?”

The weight of her words struck and Hannibal clenched his jaw, breathing slow and even to keep his heart rate down. He very obviously cared about her – a fact they both knew – but for her to use it against him in this way infuriated him. Pushing away from the counter, he stood to his full height before her as anger began to pulse in his blood. He looked down at her and met her eyes, holding them.

“I thought you would have realized I would be back sooner or later. I did not spell it out for you because I did not think I had to. I thought you were better than that, Clarice.”

He could see that his cruel words had struck a chord within her, for a new fire sparked in her eyes.

“Fuck you,” she seethed, shoving at his chest. It wasn’t much of a push, certainly not what he knew she was capable of, but she didn’t stop there. She shoved him again, again, again – each harder than the last. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Hannibal was surprised when her last blow managed to sway him off balance. She was properly angry now, to the point where she could potentially be a physical threat to him, should he let her continue unchecked.

He could not allow that. He would not allow that.

When she moved to hit him once more, he anticipated her movement, capturing her wrists in his hands, roughly bringing them down behind her. She inhaled sharply in discomfort and squirmed in his hold. 

“Is this what you wanted?” he hissed, his lips close to her ear, teeth grazing her cheek. “Did you want me to be angry, Clarice? Because now I am angry too. What are we going to do about that, hmm?”

“At least we can be angry together,” she retorted, managing to bring her foot down on his instep, momentarily distracting him enough so she could pull away. She backpedaled, seeking to put some distance between them, but he was too quick, closing the distance between them in a few easy strides, reaching out with catlike reflexes to yank her back to him, shoving her roughly against the wall so he could pin her there, his hands once again trapping her wrists by her hips.  She struggled against him, but he held her fast, pressing his weight on her to still her movements.

“ _Stop,"_ he warned, a reminder for both her and himself. His blood was pounding in his ears, the adrenaline spiking in his veins with the desire to harm, to injure, to kill. She had worked him up to this point, pushed him further than he normally allowed, and now he was edging dangerously towards an action he could not undo. His fingers twitched around her wrists, squeezing, wanting so badly to close around her throat, to stop her vulgar curses and her infantile accusations. He wondered if she knew what she had done to him, how quickly she had brought him to this, how unstable she made him sometimes.

“Hannibal,” she whispered, her breath warm on his cheek. With her soft tone, he couldn’t tell what she was trying to convey, so he pulled back a little to look at her. Her face, which had been angry moments ago, was now oddly calm. If she was afraid of him, he couldn’t tell. Not that he could ever tell what was going on in that head of hers. In her unpredictability, she was a mystery to him in a way that few people had ever been, in a way that Will Graham had never been.

“ _What?”_ he rasped, low and predatory, but before the word had fully left his lips, her mouth was on his, stealing his voice and his breath. Caught off guard by the warmth of her mouth and the feel of her tongue sliding along his, he loosened his grip on her ever so slightly, and it was enough for her to tug free and wind her arms around his neck, holding him just as tightly as he’d been pinioning her. She tore her mouth away from him just as quickly as she’d kissed him, and buried her face in his neck.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against his skin. “I just… I thought that something had happened to you. Thought that you’d been found, captured. Thought you’d left me.” She paused and squeezed him tighter, pressing her body into his. “Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

In that moment, he understood. Her anger, her aggression – it all made sense. It had been fear. That was what he had sensed the moment he entered the house – her fear, unsettling and sharp and thick on his tongue. She’d been afraid of losing him. She _was_ afraid of losing him. Her unexpected admission caused him to think, his mind churning with the possibilities of what he’d do if their roles were reversed – if _he_ were the one faced with the prospect of losing _her_.

He could not allow that. He would not allow that.

His urge to kill suddenly melted away into something more primal, an urge to fuck, to rut, to bury himself inside this woman and hide himself inside of her. He wasn’t sure where it came from, and he was more than a little surprised at the urgency of this desire, but he responded to it all the same. Without warning, he slipped his hands under Clarice’s thighs, unceremoniously lifting her off her feet. Her legs immediately wrapped around his hips and he pressed forward into her, grinding his rapidly hardening erection against her core. She gasped, a delicate sound he wasn’t yet used to hearing from her, and shifted her hips as best she could against him.

“Fuck,” she breathed, her tone and manner completely different from how it had been mere minutes ago. “Fuck, please. Hannibal…”

He’d learned quite a while ago that, in all things, Clarice Starling was his weakness. He never could deny her anything. Holding her tightly, he easily carried her across the kitchen, depositing her on the countertop. At this height, she was just about level with him and Clarice took advantage of it, combing her fingers through his hair and bringing his mouth back to hers. Hannibal moaned into her mouth, his hands grasping the hem of her t-shirt and pulling it up. She pulled away from him long enough to slip it over her head and fling it somewhere across the kitchen. Hannibal chose not to focus on it, casting his attention instead on the sight of her breasts, which she now bared to him, having cast her bra somewhere near the sink, he thought.

Immediately, his hands came up to touch her, closing over her breasts, stroking the soft skin there before playing his fingers over her nipples. He watched in delight as she squirmed and arched under his touch. Her mouth opened and closed several times, as if she meant to say something, but nothing save a moan escaped her. He grinned that such simple touches could render her speechless. She whimpered with loss as Hannibal’s hands strayed elsewhere, and he chastised her with a soft cluck of his tongue.

“So impatient,” he murmured and she leaned in to kiss him once more. She opened her mouth to him and he slid his tongue against hers, a parody of fucking. His hands slid up her thighs, bunching up the material of the loose skirt she wore, slipping his hands beneath it and her undergarments to find her already wet between her thighs. Unable to keep up with this kiss, she cursed again, breathing heavily against his mouth as his deft fingers stroked her flesh. It never ceased to amaze him how willing she was, every time. He trailed his fingers over her folds and up to her clit, watching her face contort with pleasure. She was beautiful.

Ever impatient, just like he’d said, Clarice scrabbled at the front of his trousers, alternately attempting to stroke him through his slacks and unfasten the button and zipper that kept him confined. He pushed her hands away and stepped back from her. Much as he loved it when she divested him of his clothing, he chose to forego it in order to more efficiently undress himself. Another time, he’d allow her that privilege. This time, though, he needed her as soon as possible. Clarice took the hint and, likewise, shimmied out of her skirt and panties, dropping them to the floor, where Hannibal’s clothes joined them.

Now equally naked, they regarded each other for a moment. For Hannibal, nudity was nothing to be ashamed of. He had never found any reason to hide himself from a lover, and he was grateful that Clarice was not shy – not that he had ever expected her to be. She was undeniably lovely, her figure trim and fit from years in the FBI, but what’s more was the fact that she was comfortable in her own skin. Her confidence was most becoming and, unsurprisingly, it was what drew him to her. She was not afraid – of him or of anything – and he celebrated that.

He stepped back towards her, positioning himself between her thighs. Clarice stroked his hair back from where it had fallen in his eyes and he captured her chin in his hand, kissing her roughly. She reached for him, taking his cock in hand and stroking him until he was achingly hard. Tearing his mouth away from hers, he placed a hand to her sternum and pushed her back onto the cold marble, running his hands down her arms and curling her fingers around the lip of the countertop. The sight of her, laid out before him, was more elegant and delicious than any meal he had ever prepared, and he had to devour her now. Grasping her hips, he pushed inside her, filling her in one smooth thrust.

“Fuck,” Clarice swore, tightening her grip on the countertop. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Hannibal smirked, the corner of his mouth curving up as he set a steady rhythm of sharp thrusts and slow withdrawls, one he knew would drive her mad, but only ever so slowly.

The thrill of fucking her was unique in a way that fucking Will Graham had never been. With Will, it had been difficult to separate Will’s desires from his own. With Clarice, he always knew what she wanted. She was a more selfish lover, unafraid to demand what she needed, whereas Will had focused on his partner’s pleasure above his own. Fucking Clarice felt more like a give and take than fucking Will ever had, and Hannibal found an enjoyment he had not expected in the ability to give her what she needed to achieve orgasm.

“Hannibal… Please… Please,” she begged, and he changed the angle of his thrusts to hit the elusive spot within her that would send her over the edge.

“Fuck,” she hissed. “Oh fuck… yes. God, yes.”

Clarice continued her litany of curses as he fucked her, faster now, knowing she was close and feeling himself approaching that edge as well. It wasn’t long before Clarice was coming, her walls tightening around his cock in pulsing waves. With her climax, Hannibal let himself go. He drove into her, breathing heavily, grunting as he thrust harder and faster, letting the world fall away until he was aware of nothing else but the singular sensation of fucking her, of knowing she was his, of keeping her safe, of being alive with her, of being alive for her, only her, only now, only Clarice, _his_ Clarice, his and his alone.

With that thought, he came suddenly – harder and faster than he’d intended – and the shock of it rippled down his spine like an electric current, sparking in his blood and seeping into his veins. As he came back to himself, catching his breath, he noticed tear tracks on her cheeks and a watery haze over her lovely eyes. “Clarice…?”

“It’s okay,” she sniffed, her hands on his back soft and reassuring. “I’m all right.”

“You’re crying.” He reached up and brushed a tear away from her eye. He hesitated to ask anything further of her, afraid to know the truth, afraid that in his animalistic need for pleasure and reassurance, he’d disregarded her so callously. “Did I hurt you?”

She laughed, then, surprising him. “No, no… I think I love you, is all.”

Hannibal blinked at her, unsure of what to say. He’d never truly loved another human being in nearly forty years. He wasn’t sure he even knew how to any more. But he if could, if he were truly capable of loving another person, he supposed it would be Clarice, his Starling.

“It’s okay,” she leaned up and kissed his chin softly. “You don’t have to say it back. I know…  I know. Just… just promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?” he cocked his head at her.

“No more of this lone wolf stuff, okay? We’re a team now. I don’t care where you go or what you do, but just let me know you’re safe, yeah?”

“Yes,” he agreed, leaning down and kissing her. She caused him to pause, running her tongue over his lip and sucking it into her mouth, sending a shiver down the base of his spine. If he didn’t know himself better, he’d say she was making him hard all over again.

“Good. Thank you,” she smiled, slow and lazy like a cat. “Now… I’m not quite sure I’m done being mad at you. After all… it was quite the stunt you pulled.”

He frowned at her, but she continued before he had a chance to interrupt.

“So I’m going to go take a shower. You want to join…? Keep up that teamwork we’ve got going? Make it up to me?”

He could allow that, he decided. And he would.

 


End file.
